Skin to Bone - Chapter 4 - fadedreams (2024)

Chapter Text

“He is going to spit up if you keep jostling him around as so, Jace,” you told your brother from your place on your mother’s chaise.

Ignoring you, Jace continued to bounce your newest brother, his smile widening with every gurgle the babe gave. “Ugh,” Jace groaned, not two moments later. You laughed, taking the babe from him and cradling him into your arms. “I had forgotten how messy babes could be.”

“And yet I am sure your near future holds them, for High Tide needs it’s succession settled,” you teased, smiling when Jace glared at you.

“The haste for our wedding is in due part to a lack of betrothal from you.”

“Oh, you do not blame me for I have yet to see two people more disgustingly in love than you and Baela. I am mildly shocked you are not yet stuck to her side.”

Jace flushed bright red, from the roots of his hair to his chin. You laughed lightly, ducking to press a kiss to Aegon’s crown. The tufts of deep blonde hair tickled your face and your awe of it had yet to cease. His deep violet gaze was nearly black and he had held your own from the moment he was placed in your arms.

“Ah good, he recognizes his future queen,” Daemon jested, sat near your exhausted mother.

“I used to cry myself to sleep for years,” you said, finger caressing his chubby cheek, “I hated how pale my hair was. Oh, how I longed for brown eyes.”

The cushion to your left dipped, Jace’s hand coming to your elbow. “I know, I remember,” he said quietly. “Mother always told us not to tease you about it, we knew how it pained you.”

“It seems it took our newest brother finally joining us for me to realize it never mattered,” you murmured, the sound lost to the babe, his eyes closing as you hummed a faint tune. “I have held you all in my arms, from the moment you had taken your first breath – I was there. I could burst with love for all of you, it has not yet changed.”

Jace leaned his shoulder onto yours. “Joff is worried you will love this babe more because he will look like your brother. Unlike him.”

Hurt pierced you, upset he would ever doubt your love for him.

“Oh, do not look so forlorn. He is still yet a boy,” Jace teased, “he has been the youngest for too long. Mother and Daemon spoil him. It shall be good for him. Besides, it is how we have felt for all our lives.”

“What?”

Your brother shook his head at you, as if the words he spoke were painfully clear. “You wanted to look like us, yet we wanted to look like you. We knew that you felt…that you felt as if you stood alone. But you never have. And it matters not – even with Aegon. We all grew in the same womb and we are all born of the same fire. As long as there is blood in my veins and breath in my chest, you will never stand alone. None of us will. For you have been a champion for me my entire life.”

Blinking away your tears, you knew not what to say – for once. “Since when did you get so wise?” You asked, avoiding his knowing stare.

“I had a good teacher,” he said, knocking your shoulder. “Now come, with the chaotic arrival of both you and Aegon, I have not yet had time to ask of your time in the Red Keep.”

With a smile, you told him of your months at court. Of the ladies who were sweet and sincere but also of those who’s words cut sharply. You spoke of the lords who were painfully obvious of their desire for your hand, of Lord Tully’s refreshing candor and Cregan’s friendship. You knew you had repeated much of the same, as you and Jace corresponded regularly, but having him close again settled something within you.

“I truly believe that Helaena might get along quite well with Lord Tully – she is only a few years older than him, but possibly they could friends? Is that too meddlesome?” You asked, wrinkling your nose as you thought on it.

Jace nodded, “She is special, you must be careful who you allow near her for we both know the queen protects her fiercely and her betrothal to Aegon still stands.”

“That is true, mayhaps I shall speak with her first,” you sighed, “it is quite disconcerting how sincere she has been to me. I had wanted to write to mother and ask her on the nature of their friendship. Have you noticed anything out of sort? They act quite fond of each other as of late.”

“I have not but I will write to you if I do. And you? Is there a lord that has caught your eye? I assume as much.”

Alarmed, you forced your face to still. “And why would you assume so?”

A sudden, painful, flicker to your neck caused Aegon to nearly go toppling onto the floor. “Jace!” You hissed, slapping a hand over your throbbing neck.

“I assume that the bruise here came not from training in the courtyard,” Jace said, laugher booming when your face paled. “Do not fret, I only caught glimpse of it when you brought Aegon out to me the day of his birth. Your dress was askew from your flight and you were running past me. I doubt Daemon or mother have been of much sound mind the past two days to notice.”

Uncertainty rushed through you. Not sure of what to say, the secret twisting within you, your palms started to sweat. “I…do not know what to say,” you settled on after a moment of silence.

“I do not harbor judgement, but do not wish to know any details. As long as you do not carry a Targaryen in your belly,” Jace jested, his words an echo of Daemon’s outcry all those months ago at the invitation to King’s Landing.

Your silence was pointed and you were almost sure your brother had hurt something crucial in his neck as he whirled to stare at you. “Have you been harmed? I will slice Aegon’s neck open if he dared-”

“No, no, of course not. I find it mildly insulting your lack of belief in me – I could slice him open myself if he ever put a hand on me,” you said, knowing Aegon had barely trained in his adulthood.

Jace’s brows rose quickly. “If not Aegon then…Aemond?”

“There is nothing in my belly!” You said, voice wholly too loud. Clearing your throat, you could not meet his curious gaze. “He…I…we settled things between us. You know how close we were when we were children. Luke – he – they seemed to be well - cordial. I doubt they will ever be much more than that but there is no lingering animosity. I did not set out to – I mean to say – it was not my intention-”

“Seven Hells,” Jace swore, smile faint, “you fancy him. Sincerely. Do not deny it, I can see it plain on your face. I truly did not believe this would come to pass.”

The weight within you burst and the words tumbled out of you with haste. You knew Jace was the least sympathetic in your family, next to Daemon, when it came to those who resided in the Red Keep but whilst Daemon’s was born from righteousness – Jace’s was of protection.

“Well, I see much has happened,” Jace said as you finished your tale. “Do you truly believe mother would deny you?”

You sighed, unsure. “I have yet to speak about it to her. I would like to do so without Daemon around for you know what his opinion on the matter will be,” you said. “Do you believe me a fool?”

“There is nothing further from the truth,” Jace said, “you are far too clever for any deception. You saw through Otto’s plan by your first week there, did you not?”

“I cannot help but feel discomfort in the fact that should we marry, I would be aligning with what he planned,” you told him, mildly ashamed of your truth.

Jace nodded and you knew, relief blooming, that he understood. There were many in your family to which you could swear to secrecy but your brother understood you like no other. For he had been at your side the longest. “I know not if it matters in the end,” he said, sincere, “for I suspect it would always be him.”

“What?”

“The way you were together, it was as if you were inevitable. He compliments you well, I must admit. From what I saw of him during our short stay he regards you highly. His forgiveness with Luke…that was no small feat. I am loathed to admit that he would have been within his right to deny our brother.”

Unsure if you had lost your mind momentarily, you blinked at him.

“Do not look at me like that, would you prefer I hate him?” He snorted. “I suspected his feelings ran deeper than friendship when you were placed in confinement. I know you do not remember much of our arrival but, you cried out for him. You were lost to your fever but, he cared not for your illness – he nearly cut through a Queensguard to get to your side. I had not expected to see such a spirited reaction. I admit, it has made me dislike him less. It took our mother to calm him.”

“Our mother?” You choked. “With Aemond?”

Jace nodded, a little surprised himself still. “I knew you had forgiven him for what transpired that night, you are not one to clutch onto resentment. Not like the rest of your kin,” he jested, your own smile matching his own, “you are much like father that way. I dare say father’s memory was so short he would forget our punishments. Do you remember? Mother would get so angry.”

“Remember the cake? We had eaten all the sweets in the kitchens before supper and mother almost took our ears off,” you laughed together, the sound washing away the last remnants of your worry. “I have missed you dearly. I am not accustomed to being too far from you and the boys.”

His hand squeezed yours. “You have done well at court. Mother is pleased at how many lords have written to Dragonstone. They pledge their fealty and offer their counsel. Offers of aid for when she is to reign are plenty. It was no easy feat, for our absence at court did not help. Daemon has already determined we should spend time at court as well, for Joffrey has no bride.”

Startled, you stiffened. “Joffrey is but a boy,” you snapped, “he needs not worry of alliances for my hand will determine much.”

“Not if yours is united to that of Aemond’s,” he said, “it would bridge a very deep wound, mayhaps strengthen our house far more than any other marriage could. Joffrey did like Winterfell, shall we see is Saera is need of a husband?”

Heart pounding, you knew not what to think. The image of Joffrey in Winterfell’s walls brought a smile to your face.

“Do you love him?” Jace asked quietly.

The answer was clear, despite your eagerness to ignore it. “Yes,” you whispered.

“I need not ask if he returns the sentiment for it is clear to me that he does,” he said, taking your hand in his own, “does he know of how deep your affections run?”

“I…am not certain.”

“Ember.”

Defensive, you turned to him. “It is difficult – he…they know not of closeness the way we do. The king, he cares little of them. The queen, though she has changed with me as of late, she favors Helaena. There is no love between them. Not like us.”

“I know,” Jace said, surprising you, “you must have known before this. Aegon is a twat but he had tried to earn your favor when we were young, you were too lost in Aemond to care. Aemond and Aegon are far too young for our mother to truly have a kinship with but it has been made clear that they are not looked upon favorable at court. You arrived upon the eve of the equinox and already the smallfolk make their preferences for you clear. Aemond the one-eyed Targaryen who is sent to fetch his drunken brother who is the monster they hide their young daughters from.”

Surprised, you froze in your seat. Could the tides not have been too difficult to sway in your favor? “Have I truly been so ignorant?” You asked.

“You have been occupied, no one can fault you. It seems, for that reason, if you want this – if you want to marry him – tell him first. They yearn for it; it is plain to see. He seems to be a man deserving of your affections. We all crave reassurance.”

“I had not thought I would see the day you had a kind word for them, any of them.”

Jace jerked his head back, a disgruntled twist to his eyes. “I am not promising friendship, for that may be too large of a hill for my to climb but I have always been fond of Helaena.”

“Tis true,” you laughed.

“Would the queen deny you still?” He asked. “She seemed fond of you. I had not thought she was capable of such emotion.”

“Aemond seemed to think she would not be happy.”

“What of the king?”

“I suspect our grandsire would be delighted for this union but…it is not his approval I seek. Nor the queen’s. We are not so young now that their disapproval frightens me terribly,” you said, passing your sleeping brother into Jace’s arms. “I have one purpose now, Jace. It is to aid mother with her reign and bear the weight of the crown myself. I will not turn my back on her, not for anyone. If she requires my hand be offered elsewhere, it is my duty.”

Jace sighed, your sentiments of the throne not new to him. “We are not at war,” he said, gently, “our mother is not a fumbling girl, she knows of what she does. You are well prepared for your own reign, long in the distance. Since the accident, it had seemed as if a piece of you had withered. You became the ever-dutiful daughter. I know father always said that lines would be drawn and sides must be chosen. But things have changed and for once in your life, you must stop sacrificing those pieces of yourself. Be selfish, even if only for a brief moment.”

“When did you become so intelligent and wise?” You teased.

Your brother scoffed, tussling his hair out from his eyes. “I have always been the intelligent one of this family,” he said, eyes flashing, “now come, we must think of a strategy. If he is what you want, then let us get you a betrothal.”

Ser Caswell, Jory, and your remaining personal guard greeted you upon arrival. As you climbed down from your horse, your handmaidens stepped forward. “Princess,” they greeted, curtsies deep. You reached for Lyra’s hands first and beamed.

“All is well,” you said, knowing they had heard the news from Dragonstone. “I have a newest brother and a hale mother.”

Lyra’s grin comforted you, understanding in her eyes. “You seem happy to return,” she said, turning towards the doors. “I see you have a few packs with you.”

“My mother wanted me to return with gifts,” you said, rolling your eyes, “she was upset she had missed the royal hunt for the king. There is a gift for Helaena as well, for her nearing nameday.”

Mya nodded, taking the pack carefully and Sarra taking the second. You had only made it to the inner square when your guards all bowed. Surprised at the sight of the king and queen, you curtsied. “Your Grace,” you said, ducking your head. “Apologies for my state, I have just returned.”

“And not a moment too soon,” the king said, his voice weak but eyes bright, “you come bearing good news I hope?”

“Yes,” you said, your smile returning, “her labor was difficult but I have yet another brother.”

The king smiled, his eyes softening, “A boy? This is great news.”

“Alas, Daemon believes the fates have decided I am to be the only girl,” you jested, wringing your hands. “If I may, my king, could we speak in the days to come?”

The queen’s gaze turned curious but her brows furrowed and for a moment – a brief moment – you could see Aemond in her expression. Your heart fluttered, glancing around the yard in search of silver hair. “Of course, princess,” the king said, his squire pushing his chair closer as he grabbed your hand. “I am glad your mother and the babe are alright. Labors can be…difficult for the women in our family.”

A deep sorrow overtook him and you knew not what to do. Squeezing his frail hand, you brought your arms around his frail shoulders and he stilled. “They are hale, worry not,” you said gently. “We shall speak later.”

Curtsying as he was wheeled passed the square and towards the eastern wing, you were surprised to see the queen still at a few paces from you. “We are to have guests this evening,” she said quietly, stepping closer, “we had planned for your arrival in a few days’ time as I did not wish you to be overwhelmed.”

Her underlying guilt, you knew, meant that suitors had been invited to the Red Keep. “Baratheons?” You asked, knowing they had been the most insistent on an audience with you or the king.

“Yes,” she said with a pointed glance, “you need not dine with us this evening, for you have had a long day of traveling. I will inform them of your early return and you may join us in a few days. Your mother has written clearly her displeasure of Baratheons as a suitor. They will not take kindly to being denied but we must sweeten the rejection so there leave without rancor. I suspect with enough attention that they will be pleased.”

You bowed your head once, “Thank you, Your Grace, I will adjust accordingly,” you said, “I will take my leave, as I must admit I would dearly like a bath.”

“I am glad, to hear that Rhaenyra fared well,” she said, the gaze in her eyes distant, “the babe?”

Something dark twisted within your memories, it’s bite shrill. “His hair is blonde, he favors Daemon,” you said through clenched teeth, “eyes so violet they were nearly black.”

A chagrined smile graced her features and you knew your barb had been taken as such. “Of course,” she murmured, guilt coloring her features, “I meant to inquire of his name.”

Oh.

“Aegon, the third, Your Grace.”

Her smile turned into something sorrowful and sincere. “I am glad to hear she is well. A strong name. Let us hope that her Aegon grows strong and fiercer than mine.” Before you could think of an answer, she nodded. “I am off to the Sept. I will light a candle for them. Good day.”

You curtsied once more, your spine aching from the long ride. “Come, let us draw you a bath. I will call the servants to bring hot water,” Lyra said, her fingers trailing across your sore neck. “Tonics will help with the aches. Come, come.”

Within moments, you were in a chemise and robe, awaiting the servants as they filled your bath. Lavender and peppermint filled your rooms, the promise of the hot water was enough to have your muscles screaming for it.

Your hair fell, unbraided and untied, around your shoulders. Sitting near the window, you watched the sun as it warmed, a golden yellow signaling that night was not too far. The book in your hands wavered, almost flying out of your hands, when the door to your chambers creaked open loudly.

“Aemond!” You put a hand to your wildly beating heart. “You scared me!”

His chest rose and fell quickly, his eye trailing down your body. “Prince Aemond, princess,” Jory announced faintly. You smiled, amused, and waved off your sheepish guard.

“You returned early. I was out riding- if I knew you were to return today, I would have been here to greet you,” he said, nose twitching no doubt at the overwhelming scents, “are you hurt?”

“I am alright,” you reassured him, “it was a long ride and tenderness struck once the Red Keep was in sight.”

Aemond stepped closer, his eye trailing down your chemise, his fingers trailed across your scar with a gentleness that warmed you. “I am well,” you promised, leaning into his touch.

“I have missed you,” he said quietly, words nearly silent, “I had thought myself stronger willed than this.”

The golden light bathed him, his silver hair warm and eye gleaming. “I missed you as well,” you said, hand coming to your chest, “I know not what that makes us, pathetic or too sincere for our own good?”

His laughter settled something in you, your breath coming easier now that you had laid eyes on him. “Mayhaps both.”

“I have requested an audience with the king,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper, “I have given much thought to our path. I have found the idea of being honest with him much more appealing. He would be our biggest ally.”

A brief moment of panic bled into his eye before you watched it disappear. “We need a little more time,” he said, “I have settled on speaking with my mother. I would like to speak with you as well-”

More time? “The Baratheons visit,” you reminded him, “your mother has reminded me that they will not take well to being denied. My mother is apparently, insistent I do not accept.”

Aemond scowled. “I am aware. The king had us parade out for their arrival, Lord Baratheon, his wife, brother, and two daughters.”

Daughters?

You were both silenced as two more servants crossed the room with buckets of warm water. Which daughters were sleeping in the Red Keep?

“Let us discuss this later, in private,” Aemond said, his High Valyrian rumbling in his chest, “What are you reading, ñuha jorrāeliarzy?”

Unease gave way to excitement; you told him of the books Daemon had brought to the library in Dragonstone. “I believe it was to entice me to stay,” you said, smiling, “for Daemon has no true interest in them.”

“I understand their plight for the library here felt empty without your presence in it,” he said, tucking strands of your hair behind your ear. A new, thrilling sensation rolled in your belly. The space between you both was but a breadth of a heartbeat, anticipation thrumming rather loudly.

“It is about languages in the eastern cities,” you said, clearing your throat, as you showed him the front.

“Essos?”

You nodded, fingers dancing along the page to find what you had been reading last. “I found a fascinating passage. It talks of a previously lost language and the attempts at its revival. A scholar has found a few phrases used in literature.”

“Let us hear some then,” Aemond said, standing at your shoulder, his silver hair draping over you. Distracted, you tilted your face up, inhaling the scent of his leathers and citrus soap. Feeling bold, you pressed a kiss to his jawline and Aemond’s ears turned an appetizing shade of pink. His eye dropped down to your face, a small smile twitching at the corner of his lips. You could see his question plainly.

Bringing a hand up, you traced the ghost of his smile with your finger and tucked the piece of hair back to where it belonged. “We are unofficially courting, we have been for the better part of the month, am I not allowed to show my suitor affection?” You watched him through your lashes, his eyes dropping down to your own lips.

“Of course, princess,” he bowed his head, his lips brushing against your temple. You felt his smile against your hair. “As long as I am the only suitor you show your affections to.”

You smiled, pleased with his jealousy. “I remember Daemon being fairly interested in Cregan’s recent visit…” you laughed suddenly, his fingers dancing along your collarbone in retribution as you squirmed away from the touch. “I jest!”

“Dragons are not known to share easily,” Aemond said quietly, bending further to be level with you. Bringing your hand up to his chin, you smoothed the lines between his brows and nodded.

“I know,” you said, meeting his eyes straight on. You thought of the stag’s daughters who now roamed the Red Keep. “I do not like to share what is mine either.”

His brow quirked, confusion evident. “You needn’t worry, I have not belonged to anyone else, not truly, in the whole of my existence,” Aemond said, swaying closer to you, his words sending a thrill through you. The sound of Mya clearing her throat, bemused, through the open door of your bed chambers startled you both. Aemond retreated, sitting in the chair nearest to you. “You were saying?” He nodded to the book.

Trance broken; you huffed a laugh at the irony.

“What?” He asked.

You tapped the open page with your finger. “Letters were the first to be translated successfully. It was from a husband to his wife, a soldier,” you explained, feeling the heat of his stare, “it reads, we shall find each other in the next life if I do not return from this war. The battle I fight in your name, as there is no bigger honor than fighting for what is true. May you bury me.”

“May you bury me?” Aemond echoed.

Smiling, you traced the line again. “The scholar goes on to explain that it’s a term of endearment. Something said between those that share deep love. May you bury me, as I cannot bear the thought of existing in a world where the other half of me does not. I cannot bear the thought of being the one to live on while you do not. My existence is tied to yours, so you must be the one to bury me for I cannot endure the alternative.”

You close your book slowly, your page marked by a pressed flower that Joffrey had gifted you. Eyes finally coming up to his, you found yourself captivated once again. His stare burned through you, a heat in your chest awakening. The silence between you both stirred you, your breath coming quickly and your hands aching to reach for what you were not yet permitted. Swallowing around the lump in your throat you pursed your lips. “Would you want to read it when I am done?”

“Certainly,” Aemond’s voice was rough, cutting through the fire in you and adding to its embers.

“Princess?” Sarra called out. “Your bath is ready.”

“Thank you Sarra, I will be not but a moment.”

You refused to be the first to break your stare, allowing your eyes to trail down his shoulders and down to his clenched hands. You did not wish to hide the want that pulsed through you, the one he tormented you with, for you had no escape even in sleep. His eye flared, catching your heated gaze.

“You push me too far, ñuha jorrāeliarzy,” he growled.

Coyly smiling, you tilted your head. “Do I?” You asked, rising to your feet. “And here I thought we were begrudging family at best.”

Jest not lost on him; he stood as well. “It is too late to remain enemies now,” he said quietly, stepping closer to you. His thumb came up to caress your cheek, “There is no returning to the past for us. For a dragon does not give up its treasure so easily.”

He motioned to a small pouch you saw laid on your table. “I had forgotten to give this to you before your sudden departure. I had Lyra make sure you would see it upon your return,” he said, bowing his head and fingers dancing across your jaw, “I shall see you in the morn for I worry of what will happen if we see each other for supper.”

“You forget, I am not afraid of you, Aemond Targaryen,” you said through your smile.

His hand drifted to your throat, finger splaying possessively. “Mayhaps I am afraid of you,” he said, face oddly vulnerable. He kissed your cheek as you smiled and strode out your room.

Without an attempt at hiding your giddy excitement, you grabbed the leather pouch and padded to the tub. “Oh, you have his gift,” Lyra said, aiding you in your removal of your clothes. Mya’s hand steadied you as you sunk into the prepared bath.

Groaning as you did, the steaming water easing the ache in your shoulders. “It is a locket,” you said, surprised when the adornment spilled into your hands. Mya took the leather pouch from you carefully, placing it aside. The front had an engraved intricate design and, as you opened it, a small dried flower.

“Is that-” Sarra asked, leaning in, “-dried lavender?”

Your smile was so wide it nearly hurt. “Yes, it is,” you said, your heart felt so full it could burst, “is there a note?”

Mya pulled a small piece of parchment and read it aloud. “Your token from the Riverlands, as promised. Apologies for the lack of rubies. Mayhaps on my next journey. Yours, Aemond.” Truly, despite their teasing, you could not stop your wide smile.

Jace’s voice echoed in your mind, his silent support urging your heart to be brave.

He deserves to know.

You groaned as you stepped out of your bath, feet cool from the stone. Mya unclipped your hair, allowing it to fall to your back. It had been days since you returned from Dragonstone but your shoulders still bore a soreness. “Will you join Ser Otto and Prince Aegon for supper, princess?” Sarra asked, her knowing smile almost smug.

Snorting, you nearly tumbled as Lyra pulled your chemise over your dried body. She pulled your hair oils from your sideboard, fingers nimble as she massaged them in. “I shall bring your supper up shortly, fret not,” she said, fingers digging into the tight muscle at the base of your neck. You hissed; the soreness still fresh. “You should not have spent so long in the training yard - you will ache for days.”

“I am well, truly,” you swore to her, taking her hands with your own. “It is nearly dark-”

The soft knock on the door silenced you. Jory entered, dressed without his armor but a large grin. “Princess,” he said, bowing, “I am here to escort Mya and Sarra.”

Jory looked much too young without his sword and black suit of armor. “You have my gratitude for accompanying them, Jory,” you said, glancing at a disapproving Lyra, “were you not to join them?”

She startled, eyes narrowing. “Of course not, who will attend to you?” She asked, as if the offense was mortal.

“I can attend to myself for the evening, I have retired to my rooms and plan to read before I fall into a restful sleep,” you said, urging her. “I would join you if I could.”

Lyra paled at the thought. “No, no, you all be safe.”

“We have Jory,” Mya said with a knowing glance towards Sarra, “we would be lost without him.”

Only just holding your laughter at Lyra’s eyeroll you waved them off and wished them well. As the door closed, you shook your head at Lyra’s offer of your dressing robe. “Lyra, did you truly not wish to go with them?”

“Nothing good comes from drinking in a tavern,” she huffed, “I can drink in the kitchens should I desire. Though, I do feel comforted at Jory being safe with them.”

At last, you laughed. “Mayhaps you should find your way to the kitchens regardless. I am sure there is a certain cook there waiting for you.”

“Hush,” Lyra insisted, her cheeks pink. “The queen left for Oldtown naught but this morn. It makes me uneasy to leave you alone.”

The reminder of the upcoming ease in your daily repasts and strolls with suitors and highborn ladies brought you nearly to tears.

The queen waved once more before the carriage disappeared through the gates. A strange unsettled shiver laid upon your shoulders. You had not considered the queen a friend but she was at the very least an ally and you had yet to reside within the castle walls without her in it.

“Her visit is not too long, she will return swiftly,” Aemond said, his shoulder brushing against yours. Helaena sniffled, returning into the castle.

“A pity that I could not join her to Oldtown, her brother will send word when she has arrived,” Otto said, his stare burning as you tore your eyes from Aemond. “I trust in you to keep the princess accompanied in your mother’s absence.” The underhanded meaning was not lost on either of you for you flinched at the sight of Aemond’s glare.

Uneasy, you stepped towards your guard. “Excuse me,” you said with a half-hearted bow of your head, shooting Ser Caswell a pointed look. He immediately stepped towards the courtyard, where Jory waited for your afternoon lessons.

“Aemond,” Otto called out, startling you. “A word.” A glance over your shoulder caught Aemond’s tense shoulders as Otto led him into the castle.

“Come, princess, we should start with sparring with your non dominant hand. Ser Darklyn said it was best to start you early,” Ser Caswell said, picking up two wooden swords.

“You will find that I was not, nor would I wish to be, attached to the queen’s side,” you huffed, “Lyra. I command you to take this evening off, you need not attend to me.”

She gaped, her tightly combed hair shaking as her indignation rose. “Princess-”

“He prepares the bread and helps the cook with sweets every evening. Take a bottle of the Dornish wine and be merry, for me,” you said, taking her hands in yours. “I will not leave my rooms and should I need you, I swear to call for you.”

Lyra’s shoulders dropped. “Oh alright. Since you commanded it, my princess,” she said, amusem*nt sparkling in her eyes. You rolled your own, waving your hand.

“I will send for a servant for my food. Worry not.”

“I always worry about you princess,” she said, tugging on your hair once more. “Thank you.”

Waving her off, she flattened her bodice nervously before disappearing out your door. Smiling at her nerves, you laid on your chaise.

You had only gotten through the first half of your newest borrowed book when hunger struck you. Standing, you stretched your sore shoulder before poking your head out the door. “Ser Caswell?” You asked your lone guard. He straightened, turning towards you.

“Princess?”

“May I trouble you in finding me a servant? I will take my supper in my rooms,” you asked, thanking him when he disappeared down the corridor. Closing the door behind you, you padded to your cushion and sipped at your remaining wine. Today had been strange, you had to admit to feeling a little unsettled at the departure of the queen. Not months ago, you had barely tolerated being in the same castle as her.

A loud knock pulled you out of your thoughts and you settled the table before you. “Come,” you called out, the door opening quietly.

“I find it troublesome that your doors stand unattended when your guards have clung to you like shadows from the moment you stepped foot onto King’s Landing,” Aemond’s voice filled your silent room and you nearly toppled off your chaise.

“Aemond,” you greeted, attempting to slow your galloping heart. “I was not expecting you.”

“That much is clear,” he said, eyes traveling down your body. You were distinctly aware of how little your chemise covered and fought the urge to cross your arms before your chest. “How fortuitous.”

Grinning at his endearing smirk, you noticed the tray of food he held. “Did Ser Caswell send you?” You asked, confused.

“Ser Caswell?” Aemond placed it before you, the scent of fresh bread watering your mouth. “No, Lyra had sent a servant with your supper and I crossed paths with her. I took it upon myself to bring you your meal for it had been too long since I saw you last.”

Too long? You smiled, endeared at his casual affection. “We shared our noonmeal together in the gardens with Helaena,” you said.

His brow rose, as if surprised by this truth, and you barely kept your laughter in. Aemond’s eye brightened at the sound. “Yes, well, the stag stalks too closely for my own comfort. The urge to strike him grows. Should he call you sweet again, he will find my sword lodged in his eye.” The possessive shift to his expression called forth the thunder beneath your skin – your fingers aching to intertwine themselves with his.

Wanting to add kindling to the flames that hid in his gaze, you gazed at him through lidded eyes. “I hope you did not worry of finding him in my rooms,” you said, “for I should warn you, I am being courted and my suitor would not like to find another man in my rooms.”

At that, Aemond smirked. A pleased glint shone in his eye and you bit down on your lip to keep your laughter within you. “I beg your forgiveness then,” he said, eyes drifting to your neck, your newest gift from him hanging there.

“Floris did not seem too fond of me,” you remarked, unable to summon the energy to sound disappointed. “Though the eldest Baratheon daughter speaks wonderfully about the library within the Red Keep, she had asked for my permission to take a few insignificant tomes with her.”

His expression twisted into one of antipathy. “I will rest easier once they have all departed for Storm’s End,” he grumbled, “if I must bear their presence once more, I will cut their tongues.”

You tutted, crossing your legs just so. “Such violence,” you said, “Lord Baratheon is a great ally to the crown.” The words were pulled from the depths of your shallow tolerance; you hardly kept your own laughter.

Aemond’s eye, as intended, dropped to your bare legs. “Lord Baratheon will find himself with one less brother should he not know how to keep his eyes off your body,” he growled. “Though with your own lacking treatment of his daughter…”

Indignation roared within you. “I did not drop the wine on her purposefully!” You insisted, sitting straight. “That oaf knocked my hand as I reached for my cup!”

He hummed, pleased with your outrage and you scowled at his smirk.

“It is - improper for a lady to be staring so – so prudently at a lord she is sharing a meal with. I was surprised she was able to take her leave from the table for she stared nowhere but at you. I thought she would go head first into the fire for she did not watch her step,” you said, irritation bubbling once more. Lord Baratheon’s youngest daughter had been the favorite for marriage with Aemond upon his visit to Storm’s End at the start of the season. And she was clear on her intentions to see it to fruition.

Aemond’s warm palm on your ankle startled you. “Improper?” He asked, laughter coloring his words, “I know of lady who has a penchant for marking – do you believe that proper?”

Your words dried on your tongue, eyes darting to his covered shoulder. “I imagine it would be just as proper as inviting yourself, unchaperoned, into a princess’ quarters,” you said once you had found your voice, narrowing your eyes.

At that, his laughter rung out, amusem*nt settling in the sharp edges of his face. “I cannot lie, it pleases me to see your ire.” His fingers traced soft lines onto your skin.

“I am glad it pleases you so,” you said, biting back your smile. “I believe it was you who said dragons did not share easily.”

The air between you became heavy and you were wholly aware of the heat simmering within you. “And I believe you said it was improper to stare so prudently at a prince,” he teased, standing and shifting the table before you carefully.

Fighting your own laughter, you stood as well. “I am a princess,” you said, tilting your nose into the air, “I may do as I please.”

“Of course,” Aemond said, grin unabashed, his hands reaching for you. Remaining with your arms crossed, he laughed as he tugged you into his arms. “You may stare at me as you like, for I heed no propriety when you are within my eyesight.”

Leaning back, you glanced at him. “You are the ever-dutiful son, what do you know of impropriety?” You goaded, smiling when his eyes narrowed.

His fingers grasped at your neck, pulling you tightly to him, lips crashing together. He tasted of…apples. Pushing away from him, you squealed with laughter as he lunged forward, giving chase as you ran to your bedchambers. Laughter rang as you both circled the other, the game thrilling. After a moment, you allowed yourself to be caught, his hands grasping at your chemise. “I let you win,” you said, breathless, grinning at the sight of his dishevelment. Aemond kissed you once more before you sat atop of your wooden chest, hand to your wildly beating heart. “You are a fearsome opponent, I must admit.”

“Thank you, my lady,” he bowed. Aemond’s eye trailed down your figure and the bed beyond. His shoulders stiffening. “You have retired for the night,” he stated, unsure.

“Yes?” You said hesitantly. “I have no desire to see your brother or our visiting guests and you have robbed me of my hunger for supper.”

He blinked, confused. “I have robbed you – how have I done so?”

Rolling your eyes, you huffed at him.

“I truly know not what you speak of.”

You waved a hand in the air. “When we are alone, at times, and you kiss me so, my mind cannot do much aside from fill of you. It can be hard to think,” you admitted. After a moment of silence, you stood. “I-I shall get my robe, I had bathed earlier before you arrived-” your voice trailed as Aemond walked to the door, stomach sinking. Had you said too much? Were you too forward?

Instead of disappearing through it, he shut it slowly – key locking it into place. “It seems a rightful penance,” he said, leaning against the locked door, “as I am tortured with thoughts of you from the moment I wake.”

The flutter within you returned, twofold. “Are you?” You asked, like a fool, breathless once more.

A vulnerable look surprised you as he closed the distance between you two. “I fear the pity in your gaze if I admit I have thought of you through the passing years. It was my secret, a poorly held one, but memories of you were etched into every hall of this castle,” he exhaled, hands grasping yours. “I could hear your laughter in the library, see your determination in the training yard, the reflection of your smile in my cups – you haunted me.”

“I have yet to be compared to a ghost,” you said, bemused, draping your arms over his shoulders. “I am sorry for haunting you so.”

He kissed you once – twice – before shaking his head. “I am not. For I will take whatever part of you I am given.”

Glancing at the door over his shoulder, you sunk your teeth into your lip. “You are wearing too many clothes,” you said, fiddling with his tunic, watching his eye light up.

“As are you,” he said, unbuckling his belt and letting it drop to the floor. He laid his sword against the chest, the metal cool against your calf. With one fell tug, he stood in his shirt and breeches. “Your turn.”

You gaped, crossing your arms. “I just bathed, I have no smallclothes underneath,” you said quietly, as if it were not only you in the room.

“I know,” he said, pulling his breeches off swiftly, your throat drying. Aemond’s eye dropped to your chest, where your chemise hid naught, and grinned.

Whacking his arm, you grumbled, “I was ready for bed.”

“And your bed you shall have,” he said, surprising you further by gripping you and lifting you into the air.

“Aemond!” You squeaked, arms wrapping around his neck tightly. “Aemond, put me down!”

His laughter buried itself into your neck, where his lips trailed to your ear, teeth nipping at your skin. Tumbling onto the bed together, you were pulled onto his lap, knees on either side of his waist. “Aemond,” you said, fingers tight against his pale skin. “What – are you…you had said-”

Had he not shied away before?

“I know what I said,” he murmured, fingers tugging at the linen barrier between you both. “I have desperately clung to my word and honor but I can stand it no longer. Your departure has reminded me of something – that our time may be limited. If I cannot have you, as you so sweetly offered, I may go mad.”

Pleased, you could not hide your amusem*nt. Aemond snipped at your bottom lip in retaliation. “I do not mock you,” you assured him, “for I simply thought myself alone in these sinful desires.”

Aemond reared his head. “Alone? Have I not made my sentiments clear enough?” He asked, pulling your hand to his bare leg, trailing your joined hands to his hard co*ck. Surprised, and entirely too enticed, you watched in fascination as his abdomen clenched.

“Off,” you demanded, pulling at his shirt, fire licking at your feet. “Take this off.”

His shirt tangled in his hair, but you yanked it off his body, lips immediately dropping to his bare chest. Sinking your teeth in once more, you watched in fascination as he bobbed between you, the tip red and weeping. “I saw something, at the pleasure house,” you started, licking your lips.

His huff of laughter tickled your skin. “I am certain you did,” Aemond groaned when you brought your hand back to him. Gathering the creamy droplet from the tip on your thumb, you brought it to your lips and dipped it into your mouth. Nose wrinkling, you smacked your lips. “It is not so bad,” you said with a smile.

“Seven Hells,” he moaned, throat bobbing visibly, hands coming to your chemise. “Take this off, I need to see all of you. I cannot stand for any barriers between us.”

Hair flying in all directions at the rough tug of your gown, it landed in a heap next to his shirt. “I do not mind the taste so much,” you said, tilting your head, “I would like to try.”

His voice was hoarse when he asked, “Try what, jorrāeliarzy?”

“The whor* had his co*ck in her mouth – he seemed to be pleased,” you murmured, tongue swiping at your lip. “Would that please you?”

His head dropped to the wall, eye slipping closed. “You cannot ask me such things,” Aemond groaned, pulling you to him, “this will be over too soon if you do.”

Your fingers trailed across his clavicle; his eye darkening. “Shall we attempt it another evening?” You cleared your throat, “I am a quick learner, as you have witnessed yourself in the training yard. I excel in my lessons.”

Aemond’s lips pressed an open mouth kiss to your breast, your head rolling back as he did. “Of that I have no doubt, for you only need to glance at me for my arousal to bloom.” He mouthed at the sensitive skin at the base of your neck, stealing your breath from your chest. “We will learn of each other together, in time.”

Warmth spread through you at his sincerity. “Together,” you echoed, intertwining your fingers with his. You surged forward, claiming his lips thoroughly. The hard planes of his abdomen spoke of the hours he spent training with Ser Cole. You trailed your hand further down, his muscles clenching as you caressed him.

Lost in your silent exploration, Aemond’s palm raised to your chest – his thumb brushed your pebbling nipples. “You are beautiful,” he said reverently, as if he had been speaking to himself. You had never been a timid sort, but the reality of sitting atop of Aemond, of baring your body brought upon a small seed of bashfulness.

“Do not hide from me,” Aemond murmured, his fingers massaging your tense shoulders, “we forge ahead at our own pace.”

Emboldened, you brought your hand up to his cheek and rubbed at the stubble there. Fingers dancing along his jaw, you kissed the soft skin near his ear. “I do not wish to stop. I am only worried I will disappoint-”

“You could never, regardless of what we do – you have never disappointed me, not even when we were angry with each other,” Aemond said, his gaze fierce. You surged forward, kissing him deeply. He met you, just as wild, and you poured your desire for him into your kiss. Fingers threaded through his hair, your nails scratching at his scalp. You delighted in the shiver it elicited, a groan quickly following when he shifted beneath you.

Impatience grew, a desperation sinking into you that spurred you on. You swallowed his moan as you rocked instinctively in his lap, your hips reeling with every touch.

Your fingers grasped at his hair, the leather tie at the back faltering. Aemond stilled and you let your hand linger by the clasp nearest your forefinger.

Apprehension clear, his fingers curled around your wrist, eye shuttered to you. “You need not hide from me,” you whispered, echoing his own words, fingers trailing across the careful stitching, “I bear a scar as well, I understand.”

His silver hair shook as his fingers did. “It is unsightly,” he warned. You cradled his cheek, wanting nothing more than to take this pain from him. “Not many have seen me without it,” he murmured, fingers reaching to its tie but your hand stopped his.

His comfort, above all, was what you sought. “Do not remove it. We forge ahead at our own pace,” you reminded him, “you need not bare yourself to me.”

Aemond’s smile was small, a little upturn of his lips, yet you saw his now steady fingers continue their path. The leather tumbled to the sheets pooled at your waist, his hair tumbling loose. His chest stilled, heart racing under your palm. “Aemond,” you whispered, thumb coming to trail across his jagged scar. It looked painful, the wound significant and beautiful all the same. “Why choose a sapphire?” Your lips brushed a kiss to the scar above his brow.

He inhaled sharply, fingers tightening impossibly before softening. “You know why,” he said, voice low and pleading, hands caressing your thighs.

Fire grew under your heart, using all in its path as kindling. “Say it,” you commanded. You desired to hear the words, to hear his confession. You wanted to know you were not alone in your affections.

His eye whipped to yours, his grip bruising once more. “Because of you,” he whispered, his lips trailed across your own scar. “It ceased being simply a color as it encompassed all that you are. The sea, jewels, silk, flowers – the color of the sky on a cloudless day, they were all reminders of you. That you had once cared for me and I wished to carry you closely for I had not that privilege any longer.”

“My affections never ceased,” you said fiercely, your kiss biting and fierce.

Aemond’s breath rasped, the stutter of it shaking you, “You are the sea itself, beckoning me to your waters. I go willingly for I wish to drown in you,” he said, lifting you from his legs and lowering you onto your back. Your thighs spread without prompting, allowing him to nestle perfectly between them. His knee urged your legs higher, his skin burning your own. As he settled, your sigh was high pitched while his stiffened co*ck slid between your bodies.

His small pleased smile at your arousal nestled deep in the crashing waters within you, sinking to your core. A surprised laugh burst from you, his fingers trailing across your ribs purposefully. Swatting his frozen fingers his brows leapt to his hairline, both silent in your surprise. Aemond’s soft laughter filled the room and you craved the sound dearly.

He deserved to know.

“May you bury me,” you murmured, causing Aemond to still. “I love you; I believe I always have.”

“Ember…”

Be brave.

With a sudden ferocity, you cradled his face, wanting his attention. “I love you, Aemond Targaryen,” you repeated, words loud and a little uneven in their delivery. Aemond’s eye widened, his grip turning to stone. “You needn’t say it back, you need not feel it really. I am not so fragile to break without it. You have acted true with me and I cannot be anything other than honest in return. I expect nothing more than what you are willing to give, I swear it. I only…believed you deserved to know.”

You thought of your afternoon in the cave, soaked in rainwater. “I never thought you ugly, or unworthy of love. With two eyes or one. If you allow me to, I will be there to comfort you when storms come. As insignificant as I am, I have always thought you beautiful. You always did remind me of the moon. Temperamental, lovely, and deserving of worship.”

His eye darkened, a look that had your legs tightening around his waist. “You, Ember, could never be insignificant,” he said, leaning his head against yours, “I am undeserving. May you bury me, ñuha jorrāeliarzy.” His hips twitched and your breath was stolen from your chest.

Heart galloping, you escaped his piercing gaze. “I have…not done this before, as you know,” you admitted, “I am more informed than most high-born ladies but I must admit my ignorance has me bereft.”

Aemond’s answering smile lured the lightning storm to the surface, “Have you brought yourself to peak before? Touched yourself here?” His fingers slid lower, to where you were sure you were dripping from.

The memories of your own explorations burned in your mind.

A mortified silence echoed and you squirmed beneath him. His laughter spurred your humiliation and you attempted to sit. Aemond’s hands kept you in place, his fingers tracing slow circles on your side. “It is natural, do not be ashamed,” he said, kissing the swell of your breast.

“Have you?” You asked, clearing your throat. “Laid with anyone before?”

At his silence, a small part of you wished to have remained quiet instead. “You need not answer-” Your strangled gasp robbed you of your words as Aemond’s finger plunged into you. Clenching onto his forefinger, you panted at the newness of it.

His lips came to your temple, pressing soft kisses to your scar. “You are my first. You are the only one who will matter,” he said, reverent, your jagged breath all but echoed in the quiet of the room. “Are you…certain you wish to do this?”

Stilling his hand, Gods it was hard to think when he did that, you thought of your day on the island and his hesitance. “Are you certain?” You asked. “I wish for nothing but what is freely given.”

His gaze was incredulous, lips coming to kiss your shoulder. “I had thought myself strong enough to resist your siren song,” Aemond said, eyes nearly black, “but, alas, I am a mere man.”

Laughter fell from your lips, the path before you becoming clear. “I will have no one but you, Aemond, we will marry with a bribed Septon if we must. For I fear that the idea of you marrying another sends me to madness.”

His answering smile was soft, its sweetness dripping down your arms and sinking into your skin. “Your mother will have both our heads,” he said, his hand moving once more, “but I will not be parted from you, not even in death.”

Moaning, you fought for control. “I once said that I would protect your honor,” you said around a gasp, pulse jumping once more, “fret not, I will protect you against my family.”

His answering laughter rumbled from his chest to your own. “How valiant.”

Your spine arched, chest rising, as a second finger joined the other. Yet, you could not but tease, “If you would not like my hand in marriage, I am sure the great stag would not mind relieving you of your duties,” you said, gasping as his grip turned to steel. Fingers curled within you, stars raining as the coil within you tightened. “Aemond,” you said, breathless, “Aemond.”

The intensity of the fluttering within you was new – you knew not what he had done to illicit such a response from your body.

“Do not speak his name while we lay together – better, never utter his name again,” he commanded, lips leaving marks on your skin wherever he could reach. It was the addition of a third finger, circling your source of pleasure, that had your eyes squeezing closed.

Your respite was brief. “Look at me,” Aemond demanded, his hand clasping your throat gently. Eyes opening, his own was bearing down on you. “You are mine.”

His eye was wild, a storm thrashing in the sea, taking down all in its ire. “Am I?” You teased, choking on air when he stilled. A whine escaped you before you could capture it – the coil within you demanding his touch. “Aemond, please.”

“Say it,” he growled, the fingers on your throat tightening just so. “Who do you belong to?”

The need in your belly grew, demanding completion and your hips canted upwards seeking pressure. “You, I am yours, my prince,” you gasped, slanting your hips to his bruising rhythm.

His pleased smile was pressed to your cheek, “Give me your pleasure then, honor me with it,” he commanded and you could handle it no longer. The wave within you crashed, pulling you beneath the surface, a cry leaving you as you disappeared. Gods above, that had not felt like any other time you had done so. Spent, you pressed a weak finger to Aemond’s incredibly pleased smile. Tracing it, you surged up to kiss it once more.

“You are radiant like this,” Aemond said, awe in his gaze, “I could gaze upon you for an eternity.”

Breathless, you wished to return the gift. Without much thought, you reached for him, stiff between you – and wrapped your palm around him.

His groan was of desire and arousal intertwined. You dragged your palm to the base once before Aemond gently took your hand in his. “Let us explore that path another night,” he said, gripping your hips once more, “for we must resume our lessons and I fear I will not last long.”

“Lessons?” You frowned, desperate to feel his weight on you.

Aemond hummed, his sapphire shining brightly in the dark. “It is time we learn of who I belong to,” he murmured, “for it is important you never forget.”

His hands urged your legs to his hips once more, heels resting at the small of his back. “I wish to sear this into your bones, into time itself. I am yours and you are mine, it has always been so,” he whispered, angling his hips just so and you panted at the feel of him at your core.

His hesitance was clear, a worry flickering through him. You dug your heels into him, urging him forward, “Do not waiver now,” you said, smiling when he groaned at your teasing, “we have much yet to learn from these lessons.”

Aemond’s laughter warmed you despite the stretch around him bordering painful. His touch was gentle, movements slow, giving you time to adjust as he sunk into you. After a moment, you commanded him again. “I am not glass, Aemond, I need you,” you whispered, his answering pained groan low. He murmured once more into your ear, whispering the same words over and over as his hard thrusts robbed you of the ability to think.

“Avy jorrāelan, avy jorrāelan.”

“Two weeks is entirely too long,” you murmured against his jaw, words trailing as your lips dropped to the tender patch on his neck.

Your skirts were a crumpled mess in his clenched hands but you could not find it within you to care. Teeth sinking into your favorite spot, he stiffened against you. “f*cking hell,” he growled, pressing himself even closer to you. Your hand drifted down his sides and palmed at the stiffness pressed into your stomach once before he stilled you. “Jorrāeliarzy, I am to ride Vhagar for hours to the Riverlands, I cannot-”

“And yet you could be in my bedchamber riding another dragon but you abandon me for Riverrun,” you whispered, placing another open mouth kiss to the underside of his jaw, “and here, alone, I will ache for you at night. Drawing my own pleasure without you to guide me.”

His low pained groan rumbled from his chest to yours and you smiled as he dropped his head to your shoulder. “Do not tempt me. My control is tenuous at best for I am sure to now be cursed to dream of nothing but the sounds you make beneath me.” His palm had trailed up your side, cupping your breast needily. “What am I to do when you are not near and I wake from such dream? A curse.” Smiling mischievously, you let out a loud, sensual groan when his hand tightened around you. For you knew he liked your many noises.

“Like so?” You asked haughtily.

Glare darkening with want, you were nearly panting with your own need as he massaged your skin. “You will be my ruin,” he said, lips trailing across the shell of your ear, “and I welcome you with open arms.”

Lightning cracked between you both and you brought a palm up to cradle his face. “Could Aegon not go? He so loves Riverrun and their wine.”

Aemond snorted, his eye lighting up with laughter. “My mother had requested this of me in her absence, for Aegon would surely undo all our work in the Riverlands.”

“He would,” you admitted, knowing Aegon well to know it so, “but I will grieve in your absence as we have yet to spend a night apart for weeks now.”

His own façade cracked, his eye shutting. “I fear I do not remember how to sleep in a bed alone any longer, nor do I relish in it.”

“And yet, there lays my bedding through that door,” you said, lips nipping at his neck, hand palming at his breeches with a neediness you scarcely recognized. Mere days ago, you had awoken the beast within and it seemed it would not be satisfied unless you were sat on Aemond’s lap. You knew not the woman you saw in the looking glass, a fierceness to her that had not been there before but you welcomed her dearly.

You mouthed at the skin near his collar and his soft groan fed your desire even more, the storm inside you mounting with every breath.

“Seven Hells,” Aemond swallowed, throat bobbing, “does the heart not grow fonder with distance?”

Smiling against his skin, you bit down softly. “Not with you, for if I grow any fonder, I would shatter,” you said, tracing his brow, “please send word when you arrive for I fear I will not sleep until I know it to be true.”

He smiled at you, an endearing little thing. “I love you,” he said, his lips trailing down your cheekbone, coming to your own, “do not entertain any potential suitors in my absence.”

Hiding your amusem*nt, you faked your contemplation. “Mayhaps that should be your punishment, knowing I dine with the newest first son they send my way,” you murmured, tilting your head as to give him more room, the sting of his teeth sinking into your neck as you squirmed. “Aemond.”

His grip tightened, bite sharp, and your pressed your legs together, arousal growing. “There,” he said, pleased, “now they shall know you belong to another.”

As if your chest were not littered with evidence of his desire and your nights together. “Do I not get the same courtesy?” You asked, breathless.

Aemond’s brows raised. “You have marked your land thoroughly, princess,” he said, pulling his collar just so the beginning of bruises peeked through, “I assume my back entertains the same treatment.”

“Oh,” you said, alarmed at their color, “do they hurt? Aemond, I did not mean-”

The air in your sitting room cooled, your worry rising. “I do not know how to aid you in understanding,” he said, lips capturing yours once more, “my body is yours to do with what you please. I treasure these reminders in my absence. I belong to you.”

You bit your lip, sorrow still blooming in your chest at the sight of the mottled skin. His hands cradled your face, eye tracing your features and you could not help your pout. “Do you believe it becomes easier? Parting from each other? For I know not how we accomplished this feat before. Is this what lovesickness is? I regret teasing my brother so for he looked forlorn upon parting with Baela.”

“I sincerely hope so, for you are my ghost. You haunt my first thought when I awake and the last before I sleep,” he said, “I mind it not, but it is cumbersome to be thinking of the taste of your c*nt and your legs wrapped around my head while speaking to Lords of the Riverlands. Let us not speak of the sounds you make when I am f*cking you as you like. I should have them carved into my skin, for they are quite dear to me.”

You choked on your words. “Aemond.”

“Timid now, are we?” His grin was sinful.

You whacked his shoulder, delighting in the laughter that tumbled from him. An errant thought snagged in your mind. “Aemond, what if we are discovered before we have spoken to our mothers?” You bit on your lip, the mere thought of it causing your nerves to rise. “The queen returns from Oldtown next month, and I am to return to Dragonstone the month after – for the Winter Solstice. I have written to my mother but I have not spoken with candor yet. We have so little time.”

Aemond’s hands settled on your waist, squeezing you. “We have been discreet and your handmaidens are loyal. Whispers will not spread, I swear it.”

But you knew better. “What if they do?” Your lip throbbed.

“It matters not for I desired to marry you before we laid together,” he said, eye catching your own, his sincerity plain to see.

A thought occurred to you, your heart stilling. “My mother would think my reputation in ruin. It would hurt her own standing in court to have a fallen daughter. She may refuse our marriage out of spite.”

“Then we run, we take our dragons and fly to the free cities, where green apples grow,” he said, the mere idea churning in your stomach. You could not run from your mother, you would not. She had sacrificed too much for you and your family. Aemond may now be forevermore apart of you, he was in the air you breathed and the pounding in your heart but loyalty ran through your veins. Loyalty to your house and duty to your station. A fact you knew Aemond understood and yet you both still smiled.

“We will speak of it when you return, for you have spent too much time bidding me goodbye. People will suspect,” you said, curtsying low, “I await your safe return, my prince.”

“Do not fret, we will find a solution,” Aemond smiled, bowing once before surging forward for one last kiss. “When I return, I am eager to return to our lessons.”

“I believe I can consider myself well taught now,” you jested.

His brow raised as he leaned forward, gaze heated. “We yet have much to discover together princess. Much more.”

Oh.

“You really must put effort into it princess,” Lyra said with a sigh, “I can see your lovesick eyes from the towers.”

You straightened, squaring your shoulders, and glancing meekly at Mya who patted your hand. “Let her be, she is in love,” she said, “we all become fools when in love.”

Not knowing where to look, you kept your eyes on your hands, fighting your own smile. “Your children will surely be beautiful,” Sarra murmured, “oh, the silver hair they ought to have – nearly white.”

The memory of Aemond’s hair in your fingers bubbled to the surface. His groan as you gripped it tightly, tilting his head back-

Flustered, you could do nothing but laugh as Lyra shushed you all. “Come now, we must be serious! The Hand will be seated near you, for the king is unwell and will not be attending.”

The king? You had dined with him not two evenings past.

“Truly?” You asked, surprised. “I must visit his chambers before I return to my rooms. Lyra, would you inquire with his squire of his condition?”

“Of course.”

Nerves unsettled yet again, you turned to Sarra. “Do you believe anyone suspicious of us?” You asked, worried.

“No, princess,” Sarra said, her answer sure, “I would have heard whispers if so. No one knows.”

“Yet,” Lyra said, eyes steeling when Mya sighed. “The distance will do you both good. You must secure a betrothal.”

Sarra frowned, her hands coming to your shoulders. “It has been far too long since the princess put her own desires first,” she said quietly.

Lyra placed a gentle hand on your arm. “Your happiness brings me happiness, do not mistake my words. I simply do not wish to see your enemies wield this information as a blade, one you may be cut on.”

Swallowing around the stone in your throat, you stood. “I understand, truly. I will speak to Aemond when he returns, we will bring this all to a close. He was keen to marry in King’s Landing.”

Lyra’s smile wobbled. “I always dreamed of your wedding,” she said, wiping at her eye, “Gods, you were but a babe years ago. I knew you fancied him so – even when they were children they hardly knew how to be parted from the other.”

Mya laughed and Lyra swatted at her teasing hands. You grinned, watching Sarra chase them both around the room.

“Princess Helaena, princess,” Ser Caswell announced. Walking to your sitting room, you caught a handful of silver hair and red satin.

“Ember!” Helaena exclaimed, hugging you tightly. “I did not want you to walk alone, you do not fare as well alone.”

Smiling, a bit confused, at her bright smile, you tucked her hand into your arm. “Let us walk to the gardens,” you said, walking out your rooms and into the corridor. “I have missed you of late. Why do you hide from me?”

Helaena laughed, the sound of bells. “I will miss you when you depart,” she said, light in her eyes dimming, “but you will not forget me. You never do.”

“I depart for Dragonstone in two months,” you said, “I extended my stay for the Equinox, for this harvest will last a week for the smallfolk. Your mother would have my head if I left without ample time for her to try her hand at one more suitor.”

Helaena stopped, glancing at your guard over your shoulder. Ser Caswell stepped back, nodding at your grateful smile. She leaned in, eyes wide, “A river pushes you from The Red Keep. You take his heart to Dragonstone. Tears taste of betrayal but when the snow falls, you will begin to heal as you seek truth,” she tilted her head again, eyes ferocious, “he will mourn. The hand learns of consequences.”

The words spun you. “What-”

“Helaena!” A voice called harshly, Aegon walking passed you both. “Everyone awaits, make haste.”

You blinked, feeling uncertain with Helaena’s twisted expression. It waned, her own smile returning as did the light in her eyes. “I wish to grab a cup of ale, but grandsire said I cannot.”

“I will find one for you,” you told her, uncaring of Otto’s disapproval and still off kilter, “though I warn you - it is not pleasant.”

Hurrying down the corridors towards the large garden, you were in awe at the transformation of the area. Lord Baratheon and his party spoke with Otto, their eyes on you the moment you stepped forward. Turning from their stares, you found a few people from smaller houses chattering amiably near the tables. A few interested glances from Tyrells had you avoiding their gazes, though you sent a smile to your Dornish visitors.

Those of House Tully were in attendance, Lord Tully’s smile bringing your own to your face. “Helaena, I want to introduce you to someone,” you murmured, nodding towards the young knight.

“Lord Tully,” she said, her breath catching. Her hand smoothed down her bodice, hair tussling in the breeze. She was beautiful and more importantly, nervous. You watched as the anxious knight stared at her, a dazed and wonderous look in his eyes.

Oh, this would work beautifully.

His squire cleared his throat, exchanging an amused glance with you. “Princess,” Lord Tully stammered, bowing deeply – almost toppling over.

Pressing your lips together to keep from laughing, you focused on a flash of green near the large tree in the eastern corner. It disappeared and you were drawn back by Helaena’s laughter.

She extended her hand, a cricket crawling on her sleeve. Gods, where had she found one so quickly? You glanced towards Lord Tully, ready to defend your dear friend, but found his entranced expression just as it was.

Grinning to yourself, you stepped towards Lord Tully, startling him. “Oh, princess! I did not see you there, did you just arrive?” He asked, eyes still on Helaena.

At that, his squire finally laughed and you could not fault him. “I did, Lord Tully. I only meant to greet you and wanted to ask if you knew where Helaena could get a cup of ale? She has yet to try any and was eager.”

Armed with a task, he straightened, glancing at her tentatively. “I would be honored to escort you both,” he said, offering his elbows.

With a too loud sigh, you pointed in a vague direction. “I am being summoned, but please – watch over her for me, she is dear to me,” you said with a narrow gaze. The young lord nodded fervently; his smile genuine.

Helaena beamed at you, her timid words coming at a faster pace but you caught the amazed gaze in his eyes as he nodded, endeared, at her tales of her creatures.

“Well matched, princess,” Ser Caswell said, his mustache twitching in a way you knew meant he was fighting a smile.

You followed them across the gardens, biting back your own smile. “I did nothing, nothing at all, for she is still betrothed,” you said lightly, making you way towards the wine. “But, if another lord wrote for her hand, who am I to dissuade him?”

“Of course,” he said agreeably. You found yourself a bench and sat, breathing in the smell of the weather’s incoming change. A cool breeze had you shivering despite your sleeved dress. It seemed that winter was showing its first signs of awakening from its long slumber.

You spent the next few hours speaking with your friends and avoiding the handsy Baratheon as best you could. You found yourself examining a flower bud you did not recognize when Ser Caswell’s firm voice caught your attention. A lighter voice insisted, “I only seek a word with the princess, it is important.” Her hair was black as night, long and beautiful. Her eyes were so green that you momentarily mistook them for emeralds. The bright green of her dress caught your attention.

Ser Caswell had been keeping most at a distance but you were curious. “Let her through,” you said, beckoning the woman forth. “What is your name?”

She bowed her head, curtsying deeply, “Alys Rivers, princess. It is an honor.”

Rivers? You thought, sure you had not met her previously. At Harrenhal? Mayhaps at the Vale…“May I ask why you were inquiring for an audience with me?”

Her lovely features twisted into a mixture of guilt and ire. “I have made a grave error and do not expect or wish for forgiveness but…I deeply desire to atone,” her voice was soft but something within you was hesitant to believe it.

“And it involves me?” You asked, confused. “Do we know each other?”

Alys grimaced, her eyes dropping to the ground, ever the picture of regret and yet…

“May we speak somewhere privately?” She asked, glancing around at the growing crowd.

With a cautious glance, you nodded, sharing a look with your personal guard. Stepping back into the castle, you made your way into the first empty room you saw. “Leave the door open,” you said, Ser Caswell’s sharp eyes on Alys. He nodded, hands on his pommel.

She stood nearest to the window, emerald eyes shimmering with sorrow. “I have much to atone for but I would like to begin by pleading for your mercy. I knew not how deep this ruse would go.”

“Ruse?” You asked, confused further.

With trembling hands, she pulled a handful of parchment from her pockets. “I bring these letters as evidence,” she said, “correspondence between Aemond and I.”

Your heart stilled. Aemond? Taking the letters she offered, your heart stilled at the sight of Aemond’s penmanship.

Grandsire says I must court her but I cannot bring myself to think of ever being close to her again…

You flipped to another.

She has accepted the Dragon’s Bloom with ease, you were correct in your urging of gifting her flowers. I will visit at midday for I need your help with choosing a second gift, Otto has brought many things for her. He insists on securing a betrothal-

Fingers trembling, you read yet another.

I must spend my days with her in the library, she is reading on the many houses of the realm. I believe she is searching for a suitor. I know not how to win her over, my grandsire grows restless as the days pass.

The sound of your heart cracking nearly sent you to your knees. “How do you have these?” You asked.

“I met Aemond many years ago,” she said quietly, “he was visiting Harrenhal to oversee some of its restoration. We…grew close quickly. He wrote to me, asking for my aid with a matter Ser Otto had tasked him with.”

Cold seeped into your shoulders, your head swimming. “My hand in marriage.”

She nodded, “I did not know much, I admit. He said he had to be careful for you were smart, smarter than you let others know. He told me of your preferences, from when you were children, and I aided him in winning your favor. He had favored a blue necklace but I had seen your portrait and knew the hair pin would shine beautifully against your silver hair. His plans were elaborate.”

The obsidian nestled at your crown now felt as if it burned you.

“The island…near Blackwater Bay, I had stumbled across it years ago on a trip to King’s Landing when I was a girl. It was beautiful and I knew that Velaryons are partial to the sea,” she said, her words staining every memory dear to you.

Frozen, you could do nothing but listen.

“I am so deeply sorry,” she said, tears building, “I did not know he would wield the information so well.” Her eyes dipped to your neck and her lips twisted. “I aided him in pressing the lavender within. Aemond had said you still wore his first gift. I thought you deserved a new one. Primrose, I find, is difficult to surpass but he said you smelled of lavender. So, I thought it favorable.”

New beginnings.

“Everlasting love.”

“What?” You spoke at last.

She smiled. “My father had given my mother primroses. They were to signify everlasting true love.”

Your mother’s smile at the sight of your necklace flashed through your mind, her silent knowing.

Alys shifted, her small frame stepping into the light and you nearly stumbled to your knees. How had you not seen- her- she placed her hands on her small swollen belly, her eyes pained. No. It could not be.

“I knew I was aiding him in ways I should not have, but I could not live with the guilt any longer,” she said, a quiet fierceness to her. Something true flashed through her eyes. “Be wary, princess, Otto Hightower grows ambitious as the king grows weaker.”

World upended, you grasped at the stone for balance. “He…we were to become betrothed. During the-”

“The royal hunt?” She asked, nodding as if she knew already. Sympathy crossed her face and you fought the urge to slap it off her. “I told him that such a plan would not trick the princess, surely you were not to be goaded into anything. Highborn ladies are not like bastards and smallfolk. Their reputations are crucial.”

At your silence, your heart pounding in your ears, you heard her sigh. “Oh, you have – oh princess.” Her eyes fell to her own belly and suddenly you could not breathe in the room.

Unsticking your tongue, you shook your head. “Of course not,” you said, your tone sounding heartbroken even to your ears. Her smile was sad and unbelieving.

“Be well, princess, and know I am more sorry than you can believe.”

With that, she stepped from the room.

You stood there, grasping for your footing, thoughts choking the air from your chest. Aemond would not – he would not have told her…but the letters in your hand told you otherwise.

“My prince,” Ser Caswell said, bowing his head. You heard Aegon’s grumbling and your feet had decided for you.

Desperate, you grabbed at his arm and pulled him into the empty room. “f*ck, you scared me,” Aegon’s brows rose. “What are you doing?”

“Did…has Aemond – do you know of an Alys Rivers?” You asked.

Aegon’s expression blanked, a small grimace escaping him. “I am assuming my little brother did not share his history with her…”

Your heart cracked further.

“She…she is with child,” you stammered, “were they – did they-”

“That matters not, that is the way of men,” Aegon said, waving away the broken pieces of your heart, “there are many Targaryen bastards. King’s Landing is full of them. Oh, Ember, you truly cannot be this naïve.”

“Do not call me that,” you snapped, feeling like a cornered cat.

For once, Aegon looked at you sympathetically. “I told you, during the feast,” he said with a jagged sigh, “I warned you. Otto wants for his kin on the throne. I certainly was not going to touch you. You know of how he wishes to please them. It is all that twit knows, loyalty to his house.”

“He is my friend-”

Aegon laughed, a cruel sound. “Princess, there is nothing in this castle but ruin and bitterness,” he sighed, leaning onto the nearest table. “You truly believed his boyhood infatuation with you had not died? I sincerely hope for your own sake that you have not tumbled into bed with him as Otto commanded him to. What will the people say if they knew?” He jested, eyes wide.

As Otto commanded him to. “What?” You croaked.

“That was the plan of course,” he rolled his eyes, “we were to bed you as quick as we could. For after, you would have no choice but to marry one of us. I believe his words were, ‘if your seed takes, your child will sit on the Iron Throne.’” His grunted, leaning against the stone. “As if I could stomach the thought of being a King Consort. Though the thought of bedding you is not quite horrendous-”

Your morning meal rolled in your stomach and you clutched the letters in your fist. Without another word, you stumbled from the room.

“Princess?” Ser Caswell said, his voice sounding as if you were underwater. “Are you well?”

You would never be well again. “Mya,” you stammered, “I need them, Lyra – Sarra, get them. Now.” You knew not what you would say yet but you knew where you were going.

You rushed to the stairs, climbing them two at a time, and burst into Otto’s study. He sat at his desk, quill in hand, eyes startled. “Princess?”

Slamming the door closed behind you, you waved at his attempt at a bow. “Sit down,” you hissed.

Otto’s bewilderment was genuine, that much you could sense was true. “Are you harmed? What has happened?”

“I have just met a woman named Alys Rivers.”

He paled, hand coming to his brow and a pained sigh fell from his lips. “I had not thought her bold enough to approach you. I asked the guards to assure she was escorted out the gates, I should have foreseen that myself,” he said. “What did she tell you?”

Ignoring his question, you stared at him, realizing time had not passed him unscathed. There was a wariness to him that had not been there in your girlhood. “I am no longer the child you once knew, Otto,” you said plainly, “I knew what you had planned before I set sail for King’s Landing. It was easy to see, really your only fault was to think I would ever entertain Aegon.”

“Princess-”

Your ire pushed your reckless abandon forward. “Did he tell you he bedded me?” You asked, heart aching at the only road ahead. “It is a lie.”

Pride burned in you, of how steady your voice rung despite your lie.

Otto’s eyes narrowed. “Does it matter if it true?” He asked with a sigh. “Whispers do enough to change the tides.”

And such was true, you knew. It was what your mother had warned. Truly, it mattered not to people whether you had done so or not. Whether you hid and lied the evidence of what you had thought was his love on your body, you had been played and you had lost. Your heart wept, devouring all in its path as it thrashed, unable to accept the truth.

“Did you…was he doing your bidding?”

The pointed silence further cracked your heart, its shards breaking and cutting you deeply. A fool, you were nothing more.

Nodding, you stood. “I am to depart for Dragonstone in the following days,” you said simply, “do what you must, but know I will not be forced to bow. You may spread your lies but you still will not win.”

This had been what Lyra had cautioned you of not but a few hours earlier. This had been your worry, your trepidation that you stupidly ignored because you were weak.

Otto grimaced, the audacity to look pained in the success of the plan he himself had orchestrated. “You need not leave; this brings me no pleasure. It is in the best interest of this family, of the realm, to unite our houses. We bring an end to the feud and the whispers of a broken family. Aemond would make a good king and the boy cares for you-”

He cares for us, your traitorous heart cried as it bled, he would not lie, he would not.

But your mind had cleared of its storm and you wished to hear no more. “Your days are coming to a close, Otto,” you said with an empty smile, “for you may have played the game well to put your daughter next to the king but you will not live to see my reign. You have not been successful in gaining my mother’s favor for you will not serve as her Hand. It is your destiny to be forgotten. I am not one to make an enemy of, not because of who my mother is or her husband. I am not to be trifled with in my own right for I, too, carry a temper the Gods cursed my bloodline with. It would become you to remember that.”

“Princess…”

“You have played well, I admit. But I have learned these past months. You may yet still win this battle but I will win the war. For if my hand is forced, you will see no child born of my womb sit on the throne. I will be sure of that,” you swore, on your ancestors, “you have made an enemy of me today and that, Otto, was the wrong move.”

You left his office before he could answer, your hair whipping around as you slammed the door shut.

Stumbling, you saw your guard and you handmaidens standing in the corridor, waiting for you. Lyra stepped forward first, her hands wringing together. “What has happened?” She asked, glancing around.

Courage abandoning you in one swoop, you burst into tears and you were instantly surrounded by your friends.

“Oh, my sweet. Come, Mya – Jory, we cannot let her be seen. Quickly.”

You knew not how but you opened your eyes as Ser Caswell draped you carefully across your chaise. Your handmaidens kneeled before you, Sarra working swiftly as she swept your belongings from the room. Chests were opened, filling quickly as she moved with purpose.

“Princess,” Mya said, once more, her eyes worried, “what happened? Ser Caswell said you have given the orders that we are all to return to Dragonstone. What happened?”

Your eyes swung to Lyra’s, who moved from your bedchambers to you every few moments. You had been betrayed.

No, you had been led to a trap and you had been stupid enough to follow. The mistake was yours alone.

“My sweet,” Lyra’s voice dripped with concern, “what happened?”

With a building sob, you keened and rocked into Lyra’s warm embrace. Words tumbled from you; the parchment still crumbled in your fist. Mya’s hands whipped them from your hands, without thought, and she muttered as she read.

“Alys knows he has bedded me,” you said through your tears, “I am ruined, Lyra. All the work I’ve done this summer for naught. The court will turn on me, on my mother, and I will have made it worse. I am so stupid – so weak willed-”

Sarra hurried over, her own eyes ablaze. “Otto cannot have proof for you said yourself, you lost your maidenhood as a young girl upon a horse. There is no blood to show for it. I had come in to change your sheets midday to be sure of it.”

“He does not need evidence,” Lyra said, her brows pinched, “a woman is easily led to ruin. It matters not if she did or did not lie with him – what matters is what they heard murmurs of.”

Mya seemed to clench her teeth so hard they would crack. “That miserable ass,” she hissed, eyes narrowed, “my birds caught no whispers of this. I will have his tongue for you by the evening, just say the word my princess.”

Gone was the mischievous handmaiden who had served you well. In her place, stood a woman you knew had been hiding beneath, in protection. She hissed, like a serpent, coiling around you in her worry. You sat in awe of her fury, honored that it erupted in your defense.

“A babe may yet grow within me,” you said quietly, unable to look at their gazes, “that will be their proof. As my belly swells with his child, it will show what I have done. For days! Seven Hells, the gods are cruel to show me my own demise so clearly. Even if I am forced to marry him, my mother’s reign will forever have whispers of my own unworthiness.”

“Snakes! The whole of them!” Mya said, pacing as she rubbed her own temple.

Sarra, however, stood quickly. “Moon tea,” she leaned towards the window, “the sun still lingers. It is not too late, even if the seed has taken root. I will make for the Grand Maester’s quarters at once-”

“No!” Lyra shouted, lunging for Sarra’s arm. “We cannot risk obtaining it within the Red Keep. If Otto has already set the whispers in motion, this can catch and further prove his claims.”

“It matters not, the suspicion alone is enough for my ruin!” You exclaimed, clawing at your chest – you could not breathe, air stuck to your throat.

Lyra ducked, her hands grasping yours firmly. “You are not ruined,” she said, fierce, “you are not weak for believing in love from a man you had known for yeaers. You are no fool. Men have committed crimes far worse and yet women are held to a higher standard. No. I will not hear it from you. This is…a problem, but I will hear no more slander of my lady.”

Tears built in your eyes once more, deflating with her praise.

“Irina,” Sarra breathed, turning to Mya with a knowing glance.

“Yes!” Mya stood, grabbed her cloak. “I will go to her at once, you two stay with the princess. I will return shortly.”

“Who is Irina?” Lyra asked, Mya disappearing with naught but a sound.

Sarra reached for your gowns, careful hands quick. “She is a healer woman for the brothels on the street of silk. There is a heavy price but she is in Mya’s debt. She provides many things – a reliable moon tea among them. She believes Mya to be infatuated with Jory, she will procure the tea with no problem, have faith. Once we are at Dragonstone, we will have our own people who can help – without the Crown Princess knowing.”

Lyra nodded, patting your hands before disappearing into your bedchambers. Heart throbbing, you watched Sarra glance over your own shoulder, towards the door.

“We do not yet have all the information, princess,” Sarra said, her High Valyrian seamless. Your neck snapped at you turned to her, shocked. She smiled, a soft small thing, “even if whispers spread, you are not ruined. Your mother may not yet force your hand to his-”

“If she does not, no one will have me,” you whispered, “there is no hope for an alliance with another house.”

She shook her head. “Worry not, for my web is widespread and we will handle this as it comes. Trust in your handmaiden, princess.”

“I thought he loved me,” you said, feeling pathetic and numb. “He could not have lied about it all, or am I still so naïve?”

Sarra’s smile was pained. “Love’s sting is fatal, my sweetling,” her caress was fond, “and the matters of love are never black nor white. There is much more to be found in what has transpired today but we must be strong as I know you to be. We will uncover what has happened, rest now, I will bring you a tonic. For we have much to do.”

The small belly beneath Alys’ green dress haunted you. Aemond’s words echoing in your mind.

There could be none others for me, you are the only one that matters.

“He is riding towards the gates princess,” Mya said, voice solemn. “I will stand guard with Ser Caswell and Ser Darklyn. The first boat has made good time, the second is to follow shortly. Dragonstone knows of our impending arrival as are those in the dragonpit. If you need me…”

Mya’s handmaiden uniform had been changed for black leathers you had yet to see before. At her hip hung a sword, one far larger than you had ever manage to train with. She wore a chest plate, silver with a roaring dragon carved into its center. She had raised her own banners to war. “Thank you, Mya. Is everyone set to ride?”

“Yes, we are all that remains in the Red Keep. We await your word.”

Fire burned your skin, ire building once more. “Bring him to me, please,” you whispered.

You stood in your rooms, hands wringing together, hurt aching in every part of you. The quarters were empty and you walked through them, memories clamoring for your attention.

How many evenings had found you curled by the fire, eyes on a book and fingers wrapped around a quill? The games you would play with your brothers, when they were much smaller, wooden dragon figures tossed near your rug. Laughter rung, that which you had shared with your handmaidens, with Helaena, and Aemond.

As if summoned, he appeared at your door. Your guards were silent, a heaviness sat in the air.

“Ember?” A breathless call for you had your eyes closing. “Has something happened? Guards litter the courtyard and your handmaiden brought me here.”

Turning, you glanced at him, windswept and in his riding leathers. Not but a week ago, you had stood in this very room in despair for his departure. His hands on your body, intertwined to where you knew not where he started and you ended. You fought the urge to cry, for you did not want his pity. Your pride had taken too much.

“What has happened?” His lips were downturned, shoulders tense. His eye took in your defensive stance and riding leathers. “Ember…”

Without a word, you nodded to the letters Alys had left you – the parchment on the empty table nearest to him. His skin paled, papers crumpling in his hand. “Ember-”

Heart in your throat, you crossed your arms, wishing desperately for distance. “I waited for your arrival so that this time, you would not accuse me of leaving without giving you a moment to explain. For it seems I was quick to forgive your transgressions against me and my family the first time for I have been a fool and allowed you to hurt me as I never thought possible,” you said, voice cracking pathetically.

He stepped forward, as if to comfort you.

“Do not get any closer,” you said, pressing yourself into the stone behind you. “This is close enough.”

His own breath began to sound strained. “Please.”

Despite your own oath to not ask, you could not help your demand for answers now that he stood before you. “Was it all a lie? Between us?” You asked, hands clenched together. You forced your body to still, despite the way your skin itched. For you were worried that if you did not, you would start weeping and not cease until all of the Red Keep was flooded.

Aemond twitched, as if seeing the broken pieces of your heart plain before him. How you loathed it, how well he knew you and how little you knew of him. “Of course not, please, just…let me speak,” he said, taking a few steps towards you.

“I said that is close enough,” you said firmly, not wanting him that near you. The clatter of metal echoed from your door.

“Princess?” Mya’s voice drifted in.

“I am well,” you called out, eyes on Aemond now. “I am listening.”

His throat bobbed as he collected himself. “We had discussed this before. You know that Otto… he had always had ambitions for the throne. I knew you could not have changed so much to tolerate Aegon as a suitor. Otto had tasked us both to charm you, I freely admitted such with the flowers and the pin-”

Anger growing further at his pained expression, you fought for control. “I knew of Otto but not of Alys, Aemond. She…she said you came to her about me. About how to manipulate me-”

Aemond’s face folded as his hands clenched into fists. “I came to her before you arrived and for only a few short weeks after – I swear it-”

Weeks? “How did you know of that island you took me to? The one where we swam together in the sea,” you asked, eyes steady on his.

He stilled and you knew her had spoken true. “Yes, that much is true. She had told me of it years ago…I – I simply wanted somewhere where we could be alone-”

“-that much I do believe,” you snapped, “what I do not understand is why you resisted my advances that day if what your aim was to bed me? To gain my sympathy? To make me believe you truly cared for ‘doing things the proper way?’”

“No – of course not – I was speaking true-”

The words spilled from your lips, unrestrained as your fury grew. “Does Otto Hightower know that you have bed me?” You asked, wanting to know if he would admit to his betrayal. “Did you tell him that you had succeeded in fooling me?”

Aemond took another step closer, his hands twitching as if to reach for you once more. “No, no. Nothing has changed for me since I left your rooms last, I have not spoken to my grandsire since the day my mother departed. What happened - that was between us. No one outside this room knows. I swear it. I swore that I would not-”

“Why should I believe you now when all of this – this past season has been based on a lie?”

His fingers clenched. “It was not a lie!” He shouted.

Undeterred by his flashing eye, you clenched your own hands. “Then how did Alys know?” You asked, your eyes stinging. “How did she know we had laid together? Did you laugh about it with her? Seven hells, I can just imagine you two! Talking about it amongst yourselves. Can you believe the stupid little princess, she thought she was in love?”

For a moment you believed the agony that twisted his expression, his façade cracking. “No – no! Ember, please-” you threw a hand up to keep him from touching you yet again, his fingers curling into fists. “I swear on my mother’s good name. I know not how she knew. She is…clever. Alys looks frail and meek but she is not - she must have predicted it and you confirmed it for her.”

Your pulse roared in your ears. “So, I am at fault?” You laughed humorlessly. “I cannot believe I was so naive. If your grandsire succeeds, you realize I will be ruined? My ruling was difficult to accept to start, firstborn daughter of a firstborn daughter, but now? Now this will make it impossible. You have destroyed me thoroughly.”

Aemond shook his head. “It will not come to pass. I will speak to him; I will not let him destroy what we have-”

Your laughter cut him off. “Do you believe it not already destroyed?”

Aemond’s hand slammed into the stone beside him. “You will believe her word over mine? A woman you know not for mere minutes? I have known you since you took your first breath, we share blood, I-I love you. Does that mean nothing?”

Tears welled in your eyes at the words, cutting through your bruised skin. “No, I did not blindly believe her but your word means nothing now for you have shown yourself to be a liar and a coward. Capable of things I had not thought possible. I did what I should have done from the very start. I went to your grandsire.”

Aemond stilled. “Otto? Of all people- you know his true nature!”

“Mayhaps but he has never been untruthful when confronted. I should have saved myself this heartache. You should rest assuredly, if you believe that you may hold the nights we laid together against me, you are wrong. I am not so weak. It was a grave mistake on my behalf, true, but I will not falter a second time.”

“Please…”

Strength grew in you, a rolling wave. “No babe will grow in my belly, so you may tell your grandsire that chaining me to you with a child is not possible.”

He spoke quickly, voice jagged. “Let me continue.” You sighed, exhausted. Without waiting, he forged forward. “Yes, I was untruthful at the start, she was my…friend in a twisted manner. I met her at Harrenhal, that much is true. Otto had given up on my ability to…to seduce you. I let him believe I had tried and failed so he would leave it alone. That is why I was sent to Storm’s End to secure a betrothal. It was my punishment. He knew I had never stopped loving you and wished to see me suffer for my failure. I would not have betrayed your trust. He is the last man I would want to know of our time together. It is why I have hesitated so – I wished to gain your mother’s favor so we may have allies.”

Your own self-hatred mocked you for believing his desperate words but you could not trust your judgement. The silence between you was loud and mournful, for something so beautiful had come to take its last breath. “I can see you believe me,” he murmured, “I would not be so cruel-”

“You have already been cruel, Aemond. For I would have never done to you what you have already done,” you snapped.

His silence hurt.

“She carries a child in her womb,” you said, the words dripping in your pain yet you had no energy left to be sheepish, “is it yours?”

“No! I never - we have not laid together. I swear,” he swallowed, your eyes watching as he winced, “we…we have done other things, years ago, but I have not compromised her.”

“No,” you spat, jealousy and anger rearing their heads once more, “that privilege you reserved only for me.”

His expression twisted into something painful and you fought the urge to hit him. What right did he have to that emotion? When you were the one who would lose everything?

“You said I was the first,” you said, voice shaking, “was that a lie as well?”

Aemond shook his head, sorrow filling his every word, “You are the first that matters, but,” he groaned, frustrated, “I – you – you were not the first woman I had laid with.”

Lies, your mind whispered – victorious - as your heart wept, he lies and lies and lies. “When I told you that I was untouched, you swore I was the first!”

His shoulders curled in agony. “It was only once! Many years ago! I – you were my first, I wanted you to be my only. Since boyhood!”

Throwing your arms out you fought your need to hit him. “You lie yet again! Did you not just swear to have not compromised her?”

“It was not Alys,” he murmured, eye on the floor.

You choked, despair ripping through you. “There is another? Seven hells, Aemond, if you had cut me it would have hurt less.”

“No! No – Aegon, he-”

But you would not listen to his lies any further. Stopping his fumbling words with a raised hand, you shook your head. “This is over,” you said, voice ringing in the room.

Aemond stepped forward once more. “Ember. I do not love her, I never loved her. She – we – please. I know I was untruthful about her involvement but I did not do what Otto accuses. I have told no one of our nights together, I swear it. I swear on Vhagar.”

That gave you pause. “Then how did he know?”

Desperation rolled off him in waves. “Alys must be working with him. He must have promised her something, she holds loyalty to no one. If she is in King’s Landing, she must be desperate – she might have been following you-”

“Ah, this is my fault yet again?” You sighed.

“No! No, I am simply thinking-”

Despite the crumbles of truth you saw in his words, you cared no longer. You had played the game and had come away from the board wounded. You were done with King’s Landing and its castle. “It matters not if they assumed or you told them, Aemond. Otto has assured me that the realm will know how you defiled me and will surely seek to force a union. My reputation is to be shredded and there is only once choice to keep it upheld. Otto knows I will not allow it to stain my mother’s name, and he is correct.”

You walked to the door of your empty bedchamber, heart stuttering to a stall. “If she is forced to give my hand to you, I will do so. But there will be no happiness between us. You will be named consort, only a consort, and sent to Oldtown. I will have no love for you,” you said, glancing at him.

“If you speak truly, of having no knowledge of your grandsire’s subterfuge, you will grant me this distance. For I will rule as I was always meant to. Alone. And my crown will pass to my brother’s firstborn son. I will bear you no children and should you think to force me, I will rid my body of them. I will make my womb inhabitable and curse us both with no lineage for I will not be forced to bow. Not to you. Not to your grandsire. Not even to the weight of the crown.”

At the wounded expression he openly wore, you allowed yourself a moment and closed your eyes. Swallowing around the heavy stone in your throat, you let the crack in your shield shine in the light between you. “I cannot believe you so cruel, Aemond. I know our families have a deep history and I see now that it was naïve to think we could ever bridge that gap. I knew of your loyalty to them but I…if you would have just spoken to me. I would have listened, I would have believed - we could have come to an agreement-”

Aemond growled, “Hear this, for it is true, I love you; I have always loved you. I have never lied to you after the tourney. I swear it,” his desperation was painful, for you still yet sought to comfort him. “What do you require of me? I will do anything.”

Your heart stumbled, cracking further. “It was still a lie, Aemond. You thought me stupid enough to fall for it, and I did,” you ran your fingers through your hair, rustling the braid, and you swallowed the cry down into your chest. “I am going home Aemond. Time will tell what our fates are and if they are to be united, know that I spoke truly today and will never forgive you.”

“Leaving?” He glanced around the room, as if only now noticing their emptiness. “When are you returning?”

You shot him a pitying look. “If my hand is not forced into yours, I return the day my mother is crowned queen and then return to Dragonstone until my own coronation. I wish to spend little time here for it is cursed – ghosts and pain only live to hurt me further.”

“Please, you must give me a chance to speak to my grandsire, to my mother, to Alys – I will find out what has truly happened. Do not – do not look at me as such! Like I am your enemy. You know, despite what I or my grandsire or others say, you know what I feel for you is true.”

Heart stumbling, you closed your eyes at his words. Pathetic, you whispered to the useless organ. “Mayhaps but love is not enough. The king’s love for queen Aemma got her killed. My mother’s love for Harwin got him killed. My father - I will not forfeit any more to this than I already have.”

“Will you not stay and fight? Are we so easily beaten? Am I not worth just a moment to resolve this?”

The world seemed to want to devour you whole. “Loving you should not be this difficult Aemond. I tried, my love for you was innocent, it was clean of any malice. It was pure and honest and wholly for you. But it is battered now, you broke it. And I care not for what you or your family want. What matters now is what I want, Aemond. I want to go somewhere safe; I want to be free of these walls. I want to be free of you. I want to stop hurting. I want to go home.”

“You are my home,” he said, breathless and entirely too earnest.

“Then you shall find yourself adrift for the rest of your existence, for you will never find safety in my harbor again.”

With a startling swift move, Aemond surged forward. Shifting quickly, you were too slow and were trapped in his grip. His arms caged you against the wall. “Aemond!” You growled, shoving at his shoulders only to have his hand grip your wrists to his chest. “Let me go at once!”

His eye flashed and you could not stop him – a part of you did not want to. His kiss was bruising, teeth unrelenting, and the breathless moan he pulled from you echoed in the room. You stopped fighting, the urge to pull him close was unbearable and shame burned as you gave in. Fingers gripping at his tunic, you pressed yourself to him, tongue swiping at your lip. For a moment, just a moment, you let yourself believe the lie.

For soon, this would all be a memory. A painful one.

As his lips trailed down your neck, your bravery returned two-fold, you shifted, knee rising with haste. Aemond effortlessly dodged your weak attack, stumbling away from you – as if drunk.

“You cannot kiss someone like that without loving them. You cannot, that is not something that can be faked,” he insisted, “my heart bleeds for you and only you.”

And yours reached for him with every bit of strength it had left. Ire rolled through you swiftly. “That does not absolve you of anything!” You shouted, at last. “It only serves to make this harder on us both! For we are both fools in love.”

Aemond shouted, his hand shooting out to slap a vase off a nearby table. It shattered into piece against the wall.

Ser Caswell appeared at the door, expression dark. You raised a hand, watching Aemond as he paced like a caged dog. Wiping your lips of him, you inhaled deeply.

It must be done.

“My humiliation here will die, my heart will mend, as iron can be melted and reformed. The imprint you have left on my being will eventually fade and I thank you, Prince Aemond, for the best lesson you could have ever taught me,” you said, throwing your weeping heart back into its cage and locking the door, “know that when I speak these words to you a second time, I truly mean them. I wish never to speak to you again.”

With one last sad*stic need, you gazed at his stone expression. Nodding, you turned from him and walked out the door.

The first breath you took that was not riddled with pain was in the sky. Onixa trilled, her wings ferocious, her pace quickening with every breath. Your need to be as far from the Red Keep as possible was apparent, and you knew she would carry you home safely.

It was then, on your most trusted friend, that you allowed your tears to fall. Weak as you were, you glanced behind you one last time, the castle nearly hidden by the clouds.

Your time at King’s Landing had ended.